by Amy Brent
Honestly, I couldn’t fault him entirely because I had become obsessed with Jude, as well. What started out as just another casual affair with a student had moved on to a higher level, at least for me. I wasn’t in love with Jude—at least not yet—but I certainly had strong feelings for her. Stronger feelings than I had ever had for any girl before. I thought about her constantly, not just about having sex with her, but about just hanging out and spending time. We had fun just watching TV or making dinner or walking through the park or sharing a big plate of French fries in the cafeteria. Jude smothered her fries in ketchup and talked with her mouth full. It was an annoying habit that I had come to love about her.
Jude insisted on driving herself home after the incident, even though I tried to talk her into letting me take her, and that was the last time I’d seen or heard from her. She had stopped coming to class and stopped answering my calls and texts, and when I stopped by her apartment she refused to come to the door.
I talked to the city cop who had answered the 911 call and he said Jude never came down to the station to give a statement or press charges, so Keith was released on his own recognizance and warned to stay away from Jude and keep off the Midwestern campus.
The next time he violated the restraining order it would be a mandatory thirty days in jail with no chance for bail. Same if he ever set foot on the MU campus again. Keith was a fucking asshole, but I didn’t think he wanted revenge badly enough to risk jail time over it, at least not while he was sober.
I stopped by Jude’s apartment several times over the course of the next week, but her roommate Izzy said that Jude had gone home to visit her parents. When I pointed out that Jude’s car was still parked out front, Izzy stumbled over the lie and said that she had dropped her at the airport and drove her car back to the apartment.
“Izzy, please, just tell me what’s going on,” I said, propping a hand on the door frame and leaning in to lower my voice. I glanced past her at inside of the apartment, which was dark and quiet. “I know she’s in there. Why won’t she see me? Why won’t she talk to me? What did I do?”
Izzy gave a nervous glance over her shoulder for a moment, then brought her dark eyes back to mine, as if she were considering letting me in but then thought better of it. She closed the door a little more and leaned her cheek against it.
“I don’t know what to tell you, Professor Moss,” she said with a heavy sigh. “She’s sort of having a meltdown.”
I swallowed hard and glanced past her again. I was an academic by calling, but a medical professional by trade. In my practice I’d worked with dozens of patients experiencing overwhelming feelings of guilt and debilitating depression. I prayed that wasn’t the case with Jude.
I narrowed my eyes at Izzy. “What kind of a meltdown are you talking about?”
“Professor Moss, come on man…” Izzy took another deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay, look, she’s blaming herself for a lot of things that have happened over the years. Not just the shit with Keith Calloway, but other stuff that she’s done and people she got herself involved with. Jude is the sweetest girl on earth, Professor, but sometimes the choices she makes are not the best for her. Or the best for others. She realizes that now. And I think she just needs time to sort things out.”
I gave Izzy a look that told her I was not leaving until I knew Jude was all right. I asked, “Blaming herself for what kind of things?”
She glanced back over her shoulder again, then shook her head. “I shouldn’t say anymore. Please, just leave her alone, Professor Moss. She has to work things out on her own. She’ll be okay. You just have to give her time.”
Shaking my head, I said, “It’s the Keith Calloway thing most of all, isn’t it? She blames herself for what happened with that piece of shit.”
“He wasn’t always a piece of shit,” Izzy said sadly. “At least not in Jude’s mind.” Regardless of her words, her eyes told me she agreed with me, but she shrugged and told me she had to go. I put my hand on the door before she could close it.
“Izzy, please, tell her to call me. Nothing that happened is her fault. I’m trained… I mean… I can help her work through this. I know how these things work. Jude is amazing. None of this is her fault. I want to help her. I care for her. Very deeply…”
“That’s nice of you to say, Professor Moss,” Izzy said as she eased the door closed another inch. “But she is not feeling very good about herself right now, but she will soon. Please, just give her time. Go home. And have a good night.”
“Izzy, I really do care for her.”
“I know you do, Professor,” Izzy said quietly. “I’ll make sure she knows that. Don’t worry.”
She closed the door and clicked the deadbolt, leaving me standing on the stoop with a hole in my chest that only one person could fill.
And at that moment I wasn’t sure I’d ever see that person again.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Jude
In my dream, I was being judged. I mean literally and figuratively being judged, as in on trial for my alleged crimes with my fate left up to the mercy of the court, a group of people who didn’t know me from Eve.
My alleged crimes…
What a bullshit word my brain had conjured up in a half-hearted attempt to defend my own actions to myself.
Alleged, a word plucked straight from my sophomore criminal law class, no doubt.
Alleged.
There was no more greater bullshit word in the English language, at least when it came to helping criminals like me hide behind the good old Constitution and avoid the law.
Even when they saw you commit a crime—had you on video tape, even—and had you dead to rights, they had to use the word “alleged” so as not to violate the old “innocent until proven guilty” routine.
What a crock of shit.
Alleged.
There was nothing alleged about my crimes.
I’d committed them blatantly and willingly, without ever giving a shit who might get hurt in the process. As long as my rocks got off, that’s all I cared about. I got mine. Fuck yours.
I’d committed every crime of passion with a smile on my face, knowing full well what I was doing, without regard to who would have fun and who would get hurt.
In the dream, I was in a courtroom with a judge, a jury, a gallery filled with spectators, and tables for the lawyers. I was sitting at the defendant’s table with shackles around my wrists and ankles, and a thick, leather, spikey dog collar around my neck. There was a leash made of heavy chain running from a loop at the front of the collar to another loop bolted to the floor. I couldn’t have moved from the chair if I’d tried.
I looked down at myself in horror. I was wearing an ill-fitting orange jumpsuit and pink fuzzy slippers. I started thinking, who dressed me in this getup? Don’t they know I look terrible in orange??
I glanced around the room. Izzy sat sitting quietly beside me, wearing what looked like a black choir robe and a white wig like the ones I’d seen on some movie the one time I tried watching PBS. I tried to ask her what was going on but she shushed me with her hand without looking at me.
I looked past Izzy toward the prosecution table. There sat old Professor Markle, dressed in a similar black choir robe and white wig, though his robe was too big for his skinny frame and his wig was askew to one side. He kept fiddling with the wig, but it kept sliding to the side.
Sitting next to him was Keith Calloway.
Suddenly, I knew why I was on trial. Though I wasn’t quite sure of the specific charges yet, I knew they would be numerable and impossible to argue. I was fucked, but not in the good way.
There was a tall bench at the front of the room where the judge would sit. I swallowed hard as a door behind the bench opened and the judge appeared.
He was tall, with serious blue eyes and a gorgeous face. The judge was not wearing a robe. He was completely naked, all muscles and attitude, with a long cock that swayed from side to side as he moved to sit behind the bench. He took his
seat and cast his beautiful eyes toward the courtroom, but avoiding looking directly at me. Holden was the judge. And he did not look amused or happy to see me. He picked up the heavy gavel from the top of the bench and pounded the sound block with it three times.
“This court will come to order,” Holden announced, his voice rich and deep. His voice echoed off the walls in my mind, like he was speaking from deep inside a cave. He turned toward Izzy’s boyfriend, Earl, who was standing at parade rest next to the bench wearing his campus police uniform. “Bailiff, read the charges that have been lodged against this defendant.”
Earl glared at me as if he was already pronouncing me to be guilty. He pointed a stiff finger directly at my face and listed the charges from memory.
“The defendant is charged with severe moral turpitude. Immoral conduct. Sexual promiscuity. A blatant lack of regard for the feelings of others. A total disregard for the repercussions of her actions. For being extremely narcissistic and totally self-centered. For not giving one red fuck about who she hurts by being a horny, skanky bitch. And for displaying a long history of lying to herself and to everyone around her.”
He swung his arm around to direct his finger toward Keith, who was sitting next to Markle with his forehead resting on his arms, softly crying. His wife and two kids sat in the gallery behind him, also crying. I turned around to look behind me. The room was filled with men, women, and children that I didn’t recognize, but somehow knew I had hurt over the years. Even my old therapist was there, the one who fucked me every time I came in for help. Jesus, I hoped they didn’t let that bastard testify…
Earl stiffened his finger in Keith’s direction and bellowed on. “And most of all, your honor, for destroying this good man’s life. A man who had a wife and children and a home and a career of his own before the defendant so viciously and willfully seduced him with the promise of amazing fucking sex. She literally fucked this dude’s ass up, your honor. The motherfucker can’t even hold a job because of what this bitch done to him.”
So, there is was. I was on trial because I had chosen not to control my sexual urges and had thereby destroyed the lives of others without hesitation, regret, or shame. Only Keith sat at the plaintiff’s desk, but I was pretty sure this could turn into a class action case pretty quickly if Holden asked anyone in the gallery I’d hurt to raise their hand.
Earl folded his massive arms over his chest, turned toward Holden, and shook his head. “I’m sure there’s more shit she’s done, your honor, but I can’t remember it all. Do you want me to just take her out back and shoot her now? Maybe the football team could fuck her first? It is homecoming, you know.”
“Not just yet,” Holden said calmly, quietly, looking at me for the first time. “Let’s hear what the cunt has to say before this court passes judgment.”
Earl looked disappointed as he took a step back to stand beside the bench. His big shoulders went up and down. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll just tell the boys to be ready, your honor.”
“Good plan,” Holden said, the gavel bouncing in the palm of his left hand. He stared directly at me with a look of utter disdain on his face. “Well, skanky whore? How do you plead?”
“Can he call me that?” I asked, leaning over to whisper in Izzy’s ear.
“He can if it’s the truth,” Izzy said nonchalantly, still not looking at me. She was leaning back in the chair painting her fingernails blood red.
“How do you plead, you crazy nympho bitch?” Holden asked again. He aimed the gavel my way, closing one eye like he was sighting a pistol. For a moment I thought he was going to throw it at me.
“Um… I plead… not guilty!” I announced, even though I felt guilty as hell and somehow knew there was no point in putting up a defense. There couldn’t be a point. I was drop dead guilty of every charge and everyone in the courtroom knew it. But I lied anyway. I pleaded not guilty. The words tasted like sulfur on my tongue.
Izzy stopped painting her nails and gave me a sideways look “Seriously? Not guilty? You are the guiltiest bitch I know. You’re seriously gonna plead not guilty?”
I frowned at her. “Isn’t that what I’m supposed to say?”
She rolled her eyes. “Bitch, are you guilty or not?”
I thought about the question for a moment as I glanced around the courtroom. Keith’s head was sandwiched between his arms on the plaintiff’s desk. His shoulders bounced up and down as the sobs shuddered through him. Old man Markle had taken off the robe and was sitting naked now, giving me the stink eye as he adjusted his wig with one hand and tugged on his cock with the other. His cock was no longer small and withered. It was huge and dark and veiny, like a foot-long sausage about to pop from its casing. For a moment, I thought I saw it smile at me. Markle grinned and licked his lips as he stared back at me.
It wasn’t just Markle staring at me. I could feel the heat of every eye on me now, burning my skin, making me sweat. I gave Izzy a pleading look, but it was no use. Even my best friend had already judged me guilty. She blew on her wet nails and called me a skanky bitch. I slumped back in the chair and let my body go limp.
Holden rolled his eyes at me for a moment, then waved the gavel at Earl, who was now seated in front of the bench and typing on a court reporter machine. Holden said, “Fine, whatever, let the record show that the defendant is also a fucking liar and has pled not guilty to all charges.” He waved a hand toward Izzy. “Counselor? You may call your first witness.”
Izzy got to her feet and spread out her hands. “I got nothing, your honor. Like you said, the defendant is a fucking liar who refuses to accept responsibility for her actions.” She pointed a red nail toward the plaintiff’s table. “In fact, I’d like to sit over there for the rest of the trial. I don’t want to get none of her skank on my clean robe.”
“Motion granted,” Holden said, gaveling striking the sound block loud enough to make me jump. “You may move away from the guilty bitch.”
“You’re on your own, skank,” Izzy growled. She moved to sit on the other side of Keith at the plaintiff’s table. She put a hand on Keith’s back and started rubbing circles in an attempt to soothe him.
“Iz? Izzy? Don’t you fucking abandon me, too!” I was screaming but she ignored me. I could barely see because my eyes were overflowing with tears. I turned to face Holden. “Holden, please, you know me. You know deep down I’m a good person. You know that. You’ve told me that.”
“I told you what you wanted to hear so you’d let me fuck you in the ass,” Holden said with a bored sigh. He turned toward Markle, who was still staring at me, beating his meat beneath the table. “Mr. Markle, first of all, let me apologize for the suffering this defendant has personally caused you.”
“No… problem… your honor…” Markle said, the words coming out on gusts of air. “I’ll… be fine… in a… minute…”
“Uh, Mr. Markle, could you could stop doing that for a moment.” Markle’s hand did not slow or stop. He grunted a few times, but no words came out. Holden shook his head and blew out his cheeks. “Fine. Okay. Just try not to make too big of a mess. You may call your first witness.”
Markle’s hand didn’t stop when he stood up to address the court. In fact, his cock had grown even larger, to comic proportions, like some weird porno special effect. Using two hands to pump himself now, he said, “Your honor… there’s no need to… prolong the inevitable... Miss Allen is guilty as fuck… and we all know it.” He turned toward the jury and arched his bushy eyebrows. “Right, peeps?” Every head nodded as Markle turned back to face Holden. His cock had grown so big that he had rested it on the table and stood flexing his crooked, old fingers. “So, let’s cut the shit, your honor and put this bitch away. And I’m going to need a little help getting this home. Unless you would allow me to shove it up this guilty bitch’s twat before you pass sentence.”
“Just hold your horses for a moment, Mr. Markle,” Holden said, hands patting the air. He directed the gavel at me again and told me to stand the fuck up
. I slowly pushed myself up from the table. I realized that the orange jumpsuit and pink fuzzy slippers were gone.
I was still in chains, but totally naked now. I was smeared in what looked and smelled like… shit. I held up my hands. They were covered in… I took a whiff… fuck… it was shit… I was covered in shit from head to toe…
My head suddenly felt cold. I brought up my fingertips up to find that my long hair had been shaved down to stubble. I rubbed my shitty hands over my scalp and started to cry.
Holden glared at me with hatred in his eyes. “Judith Rebecca Allen, also known as ‘Jude’, also known as ‘skanky bitch’, also known as ‘fucking slut’, also known as ‘class whore’, also known as ‘the fuck machine’, you are hereby found guilty of being a self-centered cunt who does whatever feels good without worrying about who you might be hurt along the way.”
“That’s not true,” I said. “Holden, please…”
“You are also found guilty of trying to blame your uncontrolled urges on an outdated psychological concept as a way of reconciling your actions.” He shook his head and scoffed. “Nymphomania, what a load of shit.”
“But, I have been diagnosed.” I turned to the therapist who first diagnosed and fucked me when I was just a teenager. He was sitting in the first row with his arm around Keith’s wife. Her hand was rubbing his knee. She had stopped crying and was grinning at me.
I pointed at him and raised my voice. “Ask him! He is the one who said I was a nymphomaniac! Ask him!”
